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Answer: “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?”

3. Category: LATIN FOR...

Answer: “It's my fault.”

4. Category: INTO AFRICA

Answer: It's the North African capital considered the center of Coptic Christianity.

QUESTIONS: 1. Who is Quentin Tarantino? 2. What is “The Merchant of Venice?” 3. What is “Mea Culpa?” 4. What is Cairo?

Twenty-one men and three women line up outside the Latana Ballroom at the Westin Riverwalk.

They're in suit jackets (except for the women, who are in sensible, muted outfits); one is in military uniform; another is wearing a bowtie. They look like they're lining up for a job interview, and in a sense, they are.

These are potential “Jeopardy!” contestants and I am among them. Evidently, the game program is not immune to the need for publicity, so local reporters were invited to come try out the audition process.

The quintessential TV trivia show stopped by San Antonio on Thursday morning to sort through 110 invitees of the 98,350 adults who took the online test last January.

“Jeopardy!” producers administer the online test once a year to collect a pool of new contestants who may be called out to Los Angeles anytime over the next 18 months to play the game — after, of course, a final audition like at the Westin on the River Walk.

The audition includes a 50-question written test and a short game rehearsal to see how each person plays the game live.

At 9 a.m., show coordinator Maggie Speak, a woman with wild brown hair and bags under her eyes, funnels us into the ballroom, where we take seats at long tables facing a projector screen, a table with laptop computers, and a video camera on a tripod.

Speak launches into her welcoming speech at rocket speed. She's bubbly and cheerful, but her voice sounds like it's seen the business end of a bottle brush — or maybe she gets that throaty bark from shouting at top speed three times a day starting at 9 a.m.

She covers everything from what's scheduled for today to the guidelines for the written test to the importance of answering every clue in the form of a question.

She does it at an auctioneer's pace, pausing just long enough every few sentences to inhale deeply through her mouth before she's off again, explaining that we shouldn't worry if we don't get called out to L.A. this time, that persistence can pay off, that past winners of the tournament of champions tried out several times before they made it in the show.

She encourages us, insisting that we have a good time, and that we have a great energy in Texas.

Suddenly, I'm wondering what kind of coffee she's been drinking. She later corners me and confides, “I'm a little over-caffeinated.” Indeed.

Then up steps another of the show's coordinators, Corina Nusu, pale, petite and adhering to a simple color scheme: black hair, black shirt, black spectacles, black pants, black shoes. Nusu reminds us to speak up nice and loud and notes that so far, they haven't had any trouble with that in Texas.

The whole audition process, we are told, is to take about 21/2 hours, but it likely would stretch a full four hours.

These ladies speak like they're calling a horse race. And there's a reason for that.

“The biggest issue for us is speed of game play,” said Grant Loud, the show's director of promotions. (And yes, two of the coordinators have the names Speak and Loud; it's not a gag.) “Speak clearly, speak up, and keep the game moving.”

If you think about it, “Jeopardy!” does move at a pretty quick clip. That's why having an encyclopedic knowledge of biology, botany, etymology, geopolitics, history, ceramics or how to rhyme quirky titles isn't enough to get you on the show.

They are looking for a type. Do you look angry or nervous when you answer a clue? Do you speak in a whisper? Are you slow to call the next category and price level? Do you forget to answer in the form of a question?

“It reduces your chances of getting on the show very quickly,” Loud told me later.

We all muddled our way through the written test and, then, after a short break, it was time for the live game play.

We were called up three at a time and each given a buzzer — ahem, a signaling device, which we were instructed to mash repeatedly and madly every time we thought we knew the answer to a clue.

On my turn up, I thought I knew the answer to one of the clues under Historic Women: “While on the run in the 1930s, this 4'10 bank robber sent poetry & photos of her & Clyde to newspapers.”

I buzzed in and was called to answer.

“Who is Bonnie!?” I shouted triumphantly.

“Do you know her last name?” Nusu asked.

I didn't, so I went with the most logical answer.

“And?”

The room bubbled with laughter and then erupted into applause. The answer was wrong, but at least it was in the form of a question.